Red, Yellow, Blue and Green
by Catching the Lexicon
Summary: HPFC's 'Four Houses Competition'. Series of four oneshots. Different genres for each piece- piece 1 genre: fantasy . Rated for safety. UPDATE: Competition discontinued. Only two entries posted.
1. A Floating Metaphor

**A/N: **This is for the HPFC Four Houses Competition. Prompt: Blank Parchment. Song: "Sky" by Joshua Radin ft. Ingrid Michaelson (this was only loose inspiration, the title and the atmosphere of the song were all I really used). Genre: Fantasy (I say that all HP is fantasy, therefore any HP ff is technically fantasy :)).

* * *

_Lorcan,_

_You won't believe it. Hufflepuff won the Quidditch Cup. Yes, I said Hufflepuff! It's been the first time in about thirty years, I think. None of us can believe it! I was lifted up on top of everyones' shoulders, because I'm the Seeker, you know. I wish you could've been there. It wasn't as spectacular as the Quidditch World Cup or anything, but I think you would have appreciated-_

Lysander stopped writing, and dropped his quill with a frustrated sigh. He balled the paper up tightly, threw it irritably into the wastpaper basket, and took out another sheet. It had been wrong, that letter, every bit of it. But he wasn't to blame, was he? Writing letters to Lorcan was so _hard! _Every word had to be chosen carefully, each idea thought out so thoroughly, or Lorcan would get mad. Even if he hadn't been so temperamental, ('artistic temperment', their mum called it, as she gazed fondly at Lorcan's fantastic paintings) Lysander would have had to watch what he said carefully. Being a Squib when his twin brother was fully magically capable was hard on Lorcan, and he was likely to become unbearably caustic and bitter if he sensed that Lysander was enjoying himself even the tiniest bit more than he was. _Which isn't hard to do_, thought Lysander exasperatedly, _when you're at a school for _magic_. _

No one in the Loovegood-Scamander household, however, was more pampered than Lorcan. He had the finest paints and canvas always at his disposal, for his talent was in artistry rather than magic. He used the oil paint most often, blues and greens, saying that they matched his usually melancholy mood. He made some truly wonderful artwork, Lysander had to admit; even with all his moods.

Lysander had never been jealous of his stay-at-home twin. He was glad that Lorcan was the artist, and not him. The twins' parents were more interested in Lorcan's paintings than Lysander's sports or even his spellwork, but he didn't mind. He knew it was good for Lorcan to get the attention. Luna and Rolf always went to him when they needed a sketch of some rare Blibbering Humdinger or something, and it kept him busy. Besides, Lysander liked just sitting back and admiring at the paintings, and he couldn't have done that if they had been his own. There was one he liked especially, a wall sized masterpiece. It was just different shades of blue, all swirled together to fill a canvas, but it kept getting more complex the longer Lysander looked at it. The best parts, however, were the words in the left hand corner, inked with purple dye in Lorcan's delicate script.

_Sometimes, there are limits higher than the sky_

Lysander never asked his brother what the words meant. Even if he had, he was sure that he wouldn't have recieved a satisfactory answer. Everyone hard their secrets, and he was sure that this was one of Lorcan's.

For some reason, remembering the painting prompted Lysander to start writing again. He picked up his quill and dipped it briefly into his ink bottle.

_Dear Lorcan,_

_Hufflepuff won the Quidditch Cup today. It was wonderful. I think, up on the shoulders of the rest of the team, I really touched the clouds. Now that I've gotten up that high, I think you can go beyond those little wisps of water vapor. The sky isn't the limit for you, is it? And you don't need a broom, you've got everything you need in that paintbrush._

He didn't sign it. Lorcan would know who it was from. He would probably roll his eyes at the overly formal praise his brother had given him, but he would appreciate it more than any blow-by-blow account of a Quidditch game. He always had a thing for metaphors.


	2. Lists

**A/N: **This is for the HPFC Four Houses Competition. Character: Gilderoy Lockhart. Prompt: Over Again. Song: Viva la Vida by Coldplay. Genre: Angst. 'Did no one come to save me just because they missed me?'- Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean 3.

* * *

'Did no one come to save me just because they missed me?'

- Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean 3.

I'd like to think I was a king, once. A god, even, although that might be stretching it. But I don't know anything about my past anymore. I can only hold on to so many things before my thoughts slip away like Cornish pixies from a bird cage (hmm, that's a good one, where did it come from?).

I eat breakfast in a white room, watched over by a lady dressed in white. I sign autographs on heavy white paper for something or other. Who knows anymore? Not me.

I do lots of things to pass my endless free time. Most of all, I make lists. Lists of shirt colours of the visitors to my 'ward', as the lady in white calls it, lists of addresses from the mail I receive, lists of what weather we've had recently, even lists of lists I've made. Often, I'll make the same list over and over. It has a sadly small number of items.

LIST OF THINGS GILDEROY LOCKHART KNOWS TO BE TRUE

1. Lots of people knew me, once.

2. I have red, wavy hair.

3. I am very handsome.

4. The lady in white insists of giving me croissants, when she must know by now that I detest them.

5. Life is an endless stretch of boredom.

Not very impressive, is it, this motley conglomeration of facts? At least it's better than that one 'List of the Weather We've Been Having This Week' when it was sunny and cloudless every day. But still...

I think there is only one list I have only ever made once. I shoved it under my matress so the lady in white wouldn't find it, and every so ofter, I take it out and look at it.

REASONS I AM STUCK IN THIS WARD

1. I am crazy.

2. Everyone else is crazy.

3. There are people out there who miss me, but they think that I am better off in here.

4. I am a god, and people are too afraid of me to rescue me.

5. I don't exist.

6. Ok, I really am crazy.

I'd like to think that #4 is the true one. But it seems I'll never know. I'll just keep sitting here, writing autographs to ghosts and contemplating the weather...


End file.
